Flying on Cold wings
by RussianEngland
Summary: The oppression daunted all of the nations memories, blanked them out from the world and burnt away their past. Only now have they woken up to an even more estranged world than they thought possible.Ships fly and mutants encased in rumours are on the move.
1. Chapter 1

Chapter 1

"Cold, so cold..." Come on get up! "I don't...want to...get up". A coughing fit followed, scratching at the deep freezing penetration in his lungs. It was all too much effort, better to just let the snow soak through his clothes while he lay collapsed, hapless. Pathetic! With no feeling in his hands, he numbly clutched the scarf to cover his nose in an attempt to stop the burning pain with every intake. I hope my sisters can cope without me, it will be hard for them without someone there.

It was often that people were found frozen to death on the streets, a miracle that even the ships could fly to get of this blizzard-like hell. They were inspected, heated and cared for constantly, if the fluids in the engine froze, it would cost many lives to dig out enough iron to construct another one from the Mines. Such a foreboding place, like the construction factories. Giant defective structures hewn into the mountain side. Machines would crush those not quick enough to get out of the way, a hammer weighing tons would easily break your ribs, smash your insides apart.

It was warmer than the mines, but not by much and so much more dangerous. Little or no pay at all was given to the survivors, after spending weeks at a time with no sleep, deep down in the bowels of a boiling cess-pit, digging away piece by tiny piece. Many people here were fair haired, after living so long in a landscape enraptured forever in winter. Small dwellings dotted crevices cracked into the land to be protected from the harsh storms, often spotted on clear mornings when black smoke rising up chimneys rose slowly from seemingly nowhere. As the establishments were in a valley like scape they clung suspended from the walls, dumped on top of another like a stack of moulding wood. Upturned cobble roads winded around the snow shrouded plazas at the bottom of the crevice, windows cracked from the cold. Food was hard to bite into and always glazed in frost. Old people along with children were the only ones alive in places like this, even the children didn't live long on the streets without their parents, long dead and gone. Turning on each other, they murdered to keep alive.

Russia glared through the murky white haze that swallowed the air about him. The sun was but a smudged speck barely see-able in the dash of sky above, down here it was as dark as it was when it was night. Darkness banded tight to the squatting houses, flecks of sharp snow snapped at his exposed skin. It was getting harder to breath, the air dragged to slowly down his throat. Starving of oxygen Russia felt a weight press over his vision, he had stopped twitching from the cold ages ago as the snow dusted his form lightly. Vision starting to shake it made him feel dizzy, queasy even. Then his sight suddenly went, turning black like someone had simply flicked the off switch on a light, and it was enduring.

* * *

"... Scott...Scott! SCOTT!" Snapping his eyes open he had to blink away the tears protesting at the brightness, a thick English accent shattering through the comfortable, orangey drape that came with sleep. Wait, I feel...Warm? Grasping at the sheets he huffed, shaking his head to clear the still lingering dreams. "You're awake now?" Russia still couldn't tell where the English voice was coming from, so was surprised when a boiling object smelling like rubber dropped onto his chest. It wobbled like some strange liquid, so the other thought that it was absolutely hilarious when Russia smacked it away like an escaping fly.

"I think you may need that, just for a while longer so lie there until I tell you you can get up." Still on his back Russia only saw the person peer over him quickly, taking note of the green eyes, blond hair and thick eyebrows creased in concentration. Turning his eyes to inspect the room he saw that despite the high ceiling the bed was barely fitting inside the elongated expanse, being rammed into a corner right against the wall, so just enough space was left to squeeze past. "Are you still cold? Does it feel like you have frostbite anywhere?" In no position to argue Russia shook his head sadly, quickly replaced with a smug childlike smile."Did you save me? Thank you." The Englishman choked abruptly "Y-your're Russian?" Nodding he looked curiously at the man "And you're English da? Do you have a name?" "Uah... Well I, don't know if I should tell you." "Why not? I'll tell you mine if you tell me yours." Russia leered, staring at his opponent with a childish grin plastered on his mouth. A distant nagging memory already had Russia guessing who the man was, and would prove it if the person said otherwise.

It was something about that tone of voice, shade of green eyes, maybe... Just maybe... Russia decided to swing a wild guess, if his blotchy memory lined up correctly then, this person... "England?" "Ha ha ha! Wait, what?" "England, like the old country before the oppression began." Russia spoke slowly. "I don't know you! A-and what's this talk about the old countries huh? Who are you to claim something like that you git! My name is Arthur, it always has been." Arthur asserted, moving to pick up a tri-cornered hat, a shivering peacock feather elegantly threaded into it. "I don't know, It's all torn up for me to!" Russia grunted, eyes flicking angrily in an imitation of a pacing self. "You can't be human, to remember a time when the old countries were still around." "If you are who I think you are, then you are not human also?" Russia pointed to his own eyes, demanding that the other should at least remember the violet irises.

"I know you from the past? It means you were there along with me. Russia" He jabbed his thumb at himself, staring earnestly at the other. "Doesn't it jolt anything?" "No" Came the answer after a pause, one Russia was not glad to hear. _I'll make you remember, even if i have to break your legs to do so. _Shooting an apologetic glance over his shoulder England nimbly swung the door open, leaving a hasty 'I'll come back later'. "When?" "I have to go do some stuff with my brothers... If you need anything call for Iom to get Jersey or Guernsey. I won't be back for a while, you know, eelshark hunting is pretty hard. What with all the bloody explosives." England motioned the action with his hands, shoving the black leather hat on before slinking out of the room. Russia could only grumble to himself, watching as the shimmering feather disappeared round the corner. "Am I the only one trying to patch up my own memories?" To that he could only snicker innocently, comforted with the evil aura stifled up around. "Da..."

* * *

Readjusting a worn flag that embellished the bristly open door frame leading up to the deck, Ireland could not help but listen in on England's conversation. Knowing full well that his twin, North, would want to hear all that Ireland had heard. It confused Ireland when England denied his name being that of one of the old countries, but cautious big bro Scott wanted the family to keep it a secret if all of them were to escape unnoticed in the world. So had instructed us all to use 'human' names, Ireland's own being Sean while his 'other self' was called Connor. _To be frank I don't see the same personality in both of us... Hah! We're getting off track with our meddling, I'll have to ask Connor what to do. Well maybe we could suss out the new guy... Or just stare from afar, don't want to mess with that. _They only rescued the Russian because it would have seemed unfair to leave the poor youth frozen in the middle of the street.

Running a hand disinterestedly through his slightly 'pinker' hair than his brothers strawberry blond, Ireland playfully stretched the wrinkly, over sized khaki coloured vest he wore when England began stomping right in his direction. The muscles around his lips began to ache for him to smile, giving in Ireland burst out laughing, yelping when England chased him up the steps onto the upper deck. Bouncing on the balls of his feet, he pounced easily over the railings to the other hovering craft, tethered closely to the bollard pulling the two together. His fingertips always tingled when he did it, knowing full well that slipping or losing his grip would certainly earn him a place in the after life, before plummeting past the clouds and smacking into the sea or the land below of course.

Peering back it staggered him how much the ship resembled a diver's air tank. The two metal cylinders acted as pressurizers, taking in drafts and fanning it out as dense air through three, large rotating blades. Ventilation shafts connected them to a much smaller drum in the middle, protecting the engine controlling all large gears and wires protruding from the belly of the ship. Accommodation rooms were limited to their size, as the old model relied on the wind to propel itself. Living spaces were pushed to the front in a contracted v shape, leaving only a small expanse for decking and slits either side that led to the control room, jutting halfway up the mechanism drum.

We both declined Jersey's lessons on attempting to teach either me and my brother about the engine system, ending up with Arthur's scones plastered all across the ship. In the 'moment', Connor had declared it the right time to dispose of the blackened lumps while everyone was distracted, throwing them out the kitchen windows during a need for a speedy getaway from an approaching storm. Both praying that Arthur's senses wouldn't detect the missing scones half-way across the storm surge, only stopping to take shelter in a port till the next morning. Arthur had woken early to find them skidded onto the hull bottom, using his 'super natural powers' to root out the guilty both Sean and Connor chisel them off and eat them while Jersey sprouted endless nonsense about economic issues.

_"He's coming brother! Prepare yourself." Connor whispered, Sean whimpering more loudly at every thunderous step signalling their doom. They hudled close together, cramped into the kitchen's store cupboard, home to most savoury food piled on the walk in shelves. The sound stopped before them, a dark shadow cast under the crack at the bottom of the door. A shrill squeaking of brass knob turning was all it took for Ireland to hyperventilate, Northern Ireland being more subdued prayed that at least he would go the heaven. "It's Dullahan! Brother! run for your life he's here to take our souls!"_ _Sean wailed._

Plodding in circles Sean stuck out his tongue as Arthur took the easy way across, withdrawing the rope plank and setting it aside. Waving a farewell at Guernsey snoozing in the cockpit. Jersey instantly appeared from below deck, skipping to the tangle of ropes straining upon the hooks and began undoing the one still attached still to the bollard. "Catch us a big one!" He cried while Guernsey stuck up a middle finger, slouching from view.

The two Clover 7S were both his and his brothers pride and joy, having constructed them together with Wales, Scotland and England. The Clovers clung to the side of a reconstructed Japanese sail ship, copies of the fin canvas lodged at the back, sandwiched aside a curved viewing window. A rail gun bordered the bow, refitted to deal with pin bombs instead of shells.

"Where we heeading my boys?" Ireland whooped, enthusiastic to shed the much needed violence he had been itching for, whilst his family had been flying to the Baltic. His north-side brother reloading the ammo of the favoured Irish Tomson gun that both of them wielded, often claiming that it was like a symbol for the twins."Arkhangelsk, bah then we'll head out ove the Barents Sea, bigger fish ouu there ya know." "Cool." Ireland scoffed, moving to pat his other self as if they had just watched their goldfish get put in a blender. North raised an eyebrow, along with a 'you cheeky bastard' look. Knowing full well that if he reacted to the gesture it would only end up with the more skittish of the pair teasing him the whole journey. "Have the harpoons been sharpened?" "Hmm... Wanna find out?"

* * *

"'Haud yer wheesht! Ireland! North! Yer rocking tha boat!" Scott exclaimed loudly over the protested creaking of the wheel. "Ack, when will they learn their manners eh?" Wales droned, handing the steering over to England." "Oi! come on now, stop humping each other!" Dashing off Wales went to intercept the pair.

Taking a long drag from the cig in his hand, Scott narrowed his eyes towards his little brother, the long black trench coat rippling around England's frame as was the 'unlucky' bird feather. "Wales! Line up tha rudder an keel! I don't wan'it to break." He snapped, pivoting on the heels of his military uniform boots, tie and top button that held the shirt underneath covering the nape of his neck had long since dissapeared. The white cross however, was still there as before. "Gie it laddie." Scot muttered around the but in his mouth. _Sigh_."You know that lad we found Scotty? I swear he had eyes like a goat!" "How's that?" "Cos it was like they were staring into my soul!" Scott had to chuckle slightly. "Dae ye mind him?" "Scott...I don't know. The past me might of, but this one doesn't." England thumped his fist over his heart. "Give im a wee chance, gey than dissmiss it so quickly. Ah! look there England a frozen Wave Pixs!" Scott pointed out as the ship descended, hanging so low over the water that the icebergs rose galantly overhead.

"Scott I can see something under the water!" The younger twin yelled, ducking under the back most jib to careen off the rails. "Bring us aboot lad." England obliged, edging the wheel in the direction of the twins guidance. "Agh!" North shouted in shock, stumbling forward to grab his brother. _Whoosh!_ The ship lurched, butted out the way as large bubbled shark head skewed its side. Clamping its tusks around Ireland's delicate arm and tearing him of the deck, flinging its crown sidelong as its nose whacked into the boom of the sail.

"Shite! Ireland!" Wales surged towards the rail gun, twisting it to aim while launching off a pin bomb with a spiraling _boom_. The needle garroted into the nerves of the Eelshark's enclosed eye, a rumbling blast rebounding out of its gullet. Despite it's shaking Ireland's arm still stuck twisted admist its tusks, screeching in pain tears streamed down his cheeks.

The creature struck the water with an audible crack, crying in anguish North beat and tugged at his hair, steadying himself to unclasp the belts holding the Clover, the plumage of fins fizzing outwards along with the flickering of its headlamps. It pitched forwards, letting out a shrill scratching noise as it scraped the side of the giant ice monument that North barely managed to dodge. Advancing onwards to the dark writhing shadows, the dorsal fin frothing the waters reddening surface.


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter 2

As soon as the pressure around his lungs increased Ireland began to panic, fumbling for the small pocket knife tucked into his waist band. The throbing was getting more painful and his arm tore with each thrust of the eelsharks head. Dragging his laden arm through the water and hooking the blade neath one the contracting gills, schlepping it back and forth with a hurried frenzy.

Lights danced right in front of him, foreboding a cold unconciousness. A sudden tremour racked his body, shaking the last breath out of him and rising to the surface as bubbles. _Damn it! Damn it! Damn it!_ Inhaling water Ireland final loosened his shreded arm, drifting uselessly about in a cloud of red mist to slowly sink and fall.

* * *

Shoving the control wheel downwards North slammed the cockpit shut, seizing the pry bar to seal the ventalation shafts. When the craft hit the sea it created a plosion of ice as it dived under the sheet, the fins crackling with energy. Piercing the currents with ease North directed the Clover towards the mass of gray leathery skin. Not being able to see his copy under the thin streams of light coming from the headlamps. Slamming his hand over a catch under a series of blinking lights, it detonated the remote pin bomb, a blister of crimson flushed from the crown of the coiled eelshark.

"Got ya you fecken' whore!" North roared, firing the left harpoon and watching it penetrate the dull fleshy tail. The lights and bleepers flickered enough for North to notice the radar displaying large amouts of red blotches, spreading in rings around the eelshark. _It's trying to paraylse me?_ The harpoon wires already had resistors to deal with this. launching off the second harpoon that lodged itself in the belly of the creature, the barbs tearing till its guts began leaking a yellow fluid.

Adjusting the throttle levers North stomped on the rudder pedal, accelerating with the bulk of the creature squirming out of the sea. It flopped about angerly, twisting into itself as it floated suspened above the water. Usually both Ireland and his north-side brother captured the eelshark together, so it was a strain on the aircraft to carry it's load on it's own.

In a momentary fit of anger North headbutted the control panel, only satisfied when he felt a thin trickle a blood slip down his forehead. North let his shoulders go rigged, his cussing echoed lonely about the interior of the small craft. _"Sean..."_

* * *

Russia flinched abruptly, it even agitated him that he did so. Pushing back the covers he was glad that the only things deprived of him were his boots and scarf, both were laid out carefully on a small chair at the foot of the bed. "...swear if I shot your ass full'o tranquillizer darts you wouldn't even twitch! Probably just help you go to sleep faster! Ah you awake? I apologise if my shouting woke you, Guernsey can be a big loaf sometimes." At first Russia could have mistaken the kid for Arthur, but seeming how this one was much shorter, had longer hair and a more wiry figure it didn't seem possible. "I heard that." A thick accent called. "Assyl! Ersooyl lhiat as goll cooyl rish cadley!" The juvenile blurted out, making Russia hold his hands up in mock defence. Tch-ing the kid turned his attention to the other, guiltily looking at the bowl in his palms then back at Russia. Who Recoiled on instinct as a flashback of burnt, unintelligible lumps of food passed through his mind. "Oi don't give me that look, jeez I know just about everyone in my family cant cook... But that doesn't mean I can't!" Despite the blondes effort in making the soup, I guess even from afar would it then seem edible. "...I'll get you a straw."He gave in, putting the wooden bowl in the fair haired man's hands. Russia swore that if he said anything bad the kids blond hair would bristle further. _Inherited the brunt of his family's short temper perhaps?_. Huffing he then stomped from the room.

Russia carefully set the bowl down, stepping around it to get up he clasped his long coat back together, reminding himself to ask later if they had a spare shirt to borrow. Fastening the dark worn boots to his feet, he held the pale scarf fondly before layering it around his neck. Ducking under the door arch he was forced to tip-toe up the cramped stairs, meeting a wooden corridor that revealed more inhabited spaces behind doors. A sprinkling of light dotted the panelled floor next to an entrance, covered only by a fluttering green, white and orange striped drape. Russia inspected it momentarily before moving onto an ajar door, peering around it he saw what _was _the kitchen and mess hall. A cluster of pots waiting to be scrubbed piled next to the sink, a freezer, washer and stove sat glumly in the corners. A single domed light hung from the low ceiling, precariously swinging with each jolt of the ship. In the less lit area of the room, a slightly shredded couch hugged a stained table scratched and stained from use.

"There you are! I got the straw..." His acquaintance appeared from behind the counter, having knelt to open a drawer stuffed with utensils, it rattled when Iom slammed it shut. "Thankyou, but I think I'll be able to make my own breakfast da? If you can direct me towards were the food is?." "Meewooisagh." Iom sighed. "Excuse me?"Russia tilted his head. "Nothing!" The kid chirped, deciding to shove the straw in his mouth and chew on it. "We have rice yoghurt?" "I'll have that then." "Well, we've got to get some stuff down the market, so if you want to wait until then?" "I'll be fine, da? Would you care to tell me who you are?" "Huh? Well I'm Iom! Jersey forced me to learn English, so that's why I don't speak Manx that much any more." Iom declared, throwing the yoghurt at Russia. "I guess I'll introduce you to the rest of my family then." He sneezed, wiping his nose quickly with his long sleeves. "Is it traditional to eat this with your hands?"Russia wondered. "I'll get a spoon."

* * *

"Guernsey how many times have I told you! Don't put your feet on the wheel!" It was hard to tell if the slouching mess that was Guernsey even opened his eyes at the retort. "For a moment, I thought you were going to shout at me for my lack of concentration in actually flying the god dam ship." "That to! I swear your hearing is just as good as any frickin' eagle but you've got the ass of a sloth!" Iom yelled. The blood must run thick between these two, even though their attitudes weren't exactly the same Russia could see the resemblance between them. The older man had the same emerald flecked eyes, the same shade of hair though it was tied back messily, even the few light freckles dusting their cheeks.

"When are we going to the market at Murmansk?" Iom grated out. "I'm sure my friend would like to go as soon as possible." Russia's smile faltered slightly at that but was replaced as quickly as it had happened. "Da, I'd like to see this place iv'e heard so much about." "Must you make me Iom?" Guernsey whined. "Yes. Now get your head in gear and start making way." Grumbling unintelligibly he shook to ease cramped muscles, cracking his knuckles and dropping his feet back on the floor. "Do you know where Jersey is?" "Last i heard he was doing some painting or another." "That pansy!" Iom growled, turning to Russia. "Should get there by Midday" He confirmed to Russia's approved nod. "Will England know where we went?" "We'll contact him later, right now I have a bone to pick with a certain someone."

* * *

To say the Market was amazing would have been an understatement. Colours ran about every defined line Russia could pick out. Flowers and ivy sprung from every which direction, coating the once cold, gray lifeless shack stalls with renewed energy. Russia had never seen so many people from different nations in one place and before he had realised it, a genuine laugh escaped from him.

Turning to meet the sounds and smells swarming around him Iom struggled to keep up, childlike fascination replaced the fake serine posture he always had around himself. Not shying on the opportunities to explore the wholesale, being so different to the blanc shops he was accustomed to visiting. "Isn't this fantastic da?" Russia jumped around playfully, head full of many thoughts. Twisting around people wrapped up in clothes ranging from expensive Hakamas to plain shorts, jumpers and jackets. Grabbing Iom's hand Russia led the protesting kid through the streets, buzzing with birds eager to steal away the fruit on sell. Iom stumbling to balance the number of food stuffs in his hands.

A red motorbike rushed past quickly enough for Russia to be startled at the loud noise. It didn't stop him from leading Iom to edge of a precarious cliff face, the wind rushing from the sea buffeting them both, causing his coat to shake while he enclosed his fingers to prevent the white scarf from escaping. Staring out the view captured the beauty of Murmansk's dock yard, rock formations fading into the deep green coastal blue. Merchant vessels of various shape and design descended upon the surf, sending up white spray as they bumped over the swell of the small waves. Many imitated the bodily anatomy of marine life, instead of sheets of harsh metal many were dotted with scales reflecting layers of teal, along with warm colours mostly decorating ships hailing from countries further west. Massive submarine schooners surfaced with their sails enclosed over the boat, unfurling like blades of grass to send showers of salty rain over the dock. Further away from harbour the cliff face sloped up in size, becoming housing for more hover-like craft.

"I never thought I'd be able to see anything like this in my lifetime!" "It gets boring after some time, trust me. I've seen the world all over." "Do you know when I will be leaving?" The question shocked Iom, who contemplated on responding before punching the larger person lightly in the side. "Would you rather stay in that hell hole we found you in? Or stick with us? England can teach you how to fly and I'm sure we can make room for you. Scotty has been talking about finding a new 'cooper hanger' to add to the fleet." Iom air bracketed. "So we can keep you?" Russia looked on the verge of saying no, after spending so much time alone he was used to not having company around. Thinking back to his earlier plan he decided it was best, if he were to discover any more about himself and his past. _England must have connections, i wouldn't have said if not otherwise. _"Da, I will come with you." "T-that's great! Oh! hang on a sec..." Iom placed the food crates on the ground, patting for the source of the ringing. "...Hello? Ah! Guernsey you crummy bastard wha-" Russia was close enough to hear the hushed voice on the other end of the mobile shout hurriedly, hushing the other from their rant. "...I understand." Iom muttered, flipping the cover back over the phone. In jagged movements he picked up the crates, not pausing to answer Russia's unspoken question.

* * *

When the familiar shape of Guernsey's 'home-boat' came into sight, the first thing Russia noticed was the anger rolling off of a red-head who paced about under the watchful gaze of Jersey. His eyes were a sore red, even when England attempted to calm him down he thrashed out, catching his brother on the chin and sending the smaller sprawling into the dirt. Russia would have enjoyed the fighting if it had not been for the whole sadness of the situation, so was left to shot confused glances at the unrecognisable faces surrounding the ship.

"...all your fault! He'd still be here if we, we..." Northern Ireland burst out crying, sinking to the ground and beating at it. "We can't be held responsible North, none of us knew this would happen." England tried, but the words seemed to fall on deaf ears. "Conner! Come back!" Wales ran after the retreating figure, giving up when the red-head vanished among a thick throng of people. "Shit, if we don't catch him there's no telling what he's going to do." England admitted. "You would feel the same way if your twin brother just drowned." Jersey spoke up. "Ireland might not have been my twin, but he was still my brother. I won't stand for losing another one!" England turned only to collide with Russia. "Da, I agree with England." Russia attempted to wrap his arm around the British man's neck to hold him against himself. Surprisingly England stood there for a while, maybe from shock but he shoved the other away, swore once and retuned to dark confines of the home-boat. Noticing that the swear was not directed at him he went to catch up, navigating expertly around the ship after the tour from Iom. "Arthur?" Russia ventured, nudging aside the farthermost door of the corridor concealing the sobbing.

* * *

The humongous, lobster like machine trundled about the sea's glazed bottom. Groaning eerily as if an old monolith dedicated to the past. Encrustations frozen in mid stride, the occasional corpse of a rotting whale, stringy flesh wafting in the currents. The machines giant front limbs enclosed upon a body, turned blue from the extreme temperatures. Sealing together, the claws streamed out the water. Drawing them close to its mouth pieces, attendants received the body. Wheeling it down oblique spaces to dark to track with the human eye, pertaining the overall look of the monolith. Sliding the body off a steep ramp it rolled to meet the welcome arms of an albino, who glared through the darkness at the cooing creatures, chattering at each other with their strange language.


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter 3

_Where am I? Wait..."_What happened to my _arm_?" "_Kesesese... _I'm sorry'bout that, but seeming as it was already coming _off_." Ireland struggled to get up, his missing limb just made it worse. "What did you _do?_" "Hmm? Ate it, couldn't let it got to waste." "Cannibal!" He hissed into the pitch black. "Hey now don't judge me. I resuscitated you, saved ya, so that should more then make up for it." Came the reply, rebounding off into the distance. "Hmm...Well the only thing to eat is the fungus from the corpses, the rats fuck enough for there to be plenty of the buggers." The voice stated. Suddenly, a pair of arms wrapped around Ireland's waist, a wet tongue licking at his earlobe.

"Found _ya._" "G-get away from me!" "How about no? Those creatures will leave us alone, more me than you though, if we put up a bit of a show..." Visibly shaking from fear, Ireland recalled the stories his brothers would tell him. Of man eating, savage people that would eat you alive. It had givin him nightmares the evening when England had told of a graphic, old travellers tale. The person sighed, his breath tickled up Ireland's neck. "Stay close, listen to me and we might get through this. I've done what I can to try an' stop the infection in what's left of your arm, but unless we get out then I'm afraid we can't treat it properly." "Who are you?" "Ack, now thats a long one."

The figure put his chin on Ireland's shoulder, playfully blowing on the lose strands of hair around his left cheek. "Do you have any idea why you're here? _Kesesese, _course you _don't. _Are you familiar with nations? Tell me who you really are, there isn't any other reason someone like you is down here." The person pressed on, wrapping their legs around him. "My name is Ireland, Republic... of Ireland." He repeated to himself, remembering his twin. The weight of the other keeping him wary.

He had no reason to keep it a secret in this type of situation, Scott often said to keep it to yourself. Though even he did not know why, saying that it was just _important. _"Well, _Ireland._" The voice whispered quietly. "I think I know more about you, _more_ _than you might think_." The man stripped away from him then, foot steps fading somewhere to his side. There was a moment of silence before a knocking sound was heard, a dull thudding. "Tell me." "What?" "...Everything, on the surface. What time of year is it?" "Autumn I think, the trees back west are just shedding their leaves, its like a sea of orange, reds and yellows. We get rainbows often, beautiful really." Ireland commented, remembering the month of the fall. "What about yourself? Are you beautiful too?" The voice questioned, chuckling to itself. He decided to let it slid. "What are you doing?" "Oh! Well sometimes the pitch of the thudding echoing through the hull, changes depending on how far away we're from the surface. Can hear the gulls from time to time as well."

Ireland huffed, shuffling to lie down. All he could hear was the scuff of feet and the occasional rodent scamper around. It wasn't long before the person found him again, perhaps by his harsh breathing but Ireland couldn't have cared less. The albino threaded an arm underneath his body, pulling the shivering other to his chest. "You can call me Gilbert, don't worry, I won't eat you." He reassured. "More than you can say for my arm." "Hey! I'll get you a prosthetic one, they can give me the bill and I'll pay it off...Oi, how you fall asleep so quickly?"

* * *

They had sent word out to the city watchers in the city to keep an eye on North, reporting back they said how strangely the twin was acting. Some moments he would stand stock-still in the middle of the street for minutes on end, pace in circles or mutter to himself. Taking to no shelter when it rained that day, getting soaked through to his skin

Scott worried more often about how his brothers were faring than his own welfare, after the recent events he felt it was his responsibility to stand tall and dull all the blows that came in his families way. So it worried him when the tall, fair haired Russian man trailed after England. It made his hackles rise at the thought of someone as equally strong would dare intervene with his own blood. Smoking usually calmed his nerves but it still left him agitated. Snuffing out the remains he took out another, shielding the lighter to avoid the flame from being blown out. Strutting down the docked walkway he passed through the boathouse, collecting the owned money he seemed to stock up from brawls.

Word had gotten out that his famed family had lost one of its dearest members. While some took pity, others saw it as a chance to attack, steal and overun while the defences were down. It was common and not much thought at by the authorities, who chose not interfere with the dark meddling society of the raiders. Scotland preferred to snatch North back before things became overcrowded, to minimize the risk of him being captured and held for ransom, if he were to go out to look for him then he could get jumped. Not wanting to risk Jersey or England getting hurt, that left Guernsey, Wales and Iom. The little isle would not be much use if it boiled down to a fight, neither would Guernsey and someone had to watch the ships.

Admitting it, he knew that the only option would be to ask the Russian man to come along. Knowing under that childish face there was an underlying malice, as cruel as Scott's own mercy when it came to fighting. Approaching the old home-boat he met Jersey's aggressive stance, warding away passers that came too close. It was already getting dark, the sky messily sliced between the setting colours of the sun and the stardust of twinkling stars. Jersey retied his long sandy hair before nodding silently at Scott, leaning menacingly over the small v deck rails. Padding faintly towards England's room he paused outside, not being one to eavesdrop, but it seemed that they both hadn't heard him yet, and he wan't one to pass up an opportunity.

"...want to stay here?" "Da, if England can cope with it." "I'm not admitting I'm England you twit! Jus' want to know what I really am, bugger me if you don't want to too." England said defensively. "Yes, that's why... it will be safer to do it together da? Unearthing the past can be dangerous, if it was blocked by the oppression then it means it fogged up something important." "God my mind is so messed up! we could have hated each other, been enemies! What if we were hmm? What will happen then?" "I don't know, but you could have meant anything to me in my past, da?" The man said softly. "I suppose." England confided. "And you decided that I meant this much to you?" "Da."

Coughing to announce himself he strode into the room. England no longer wearing his black trench coat, usually undone as the Britishman no longer fussed over doing it up. In Scotland's opinion it made him seem alot taller, more formal . "Ah need ya to come with me." He spoke to Russia, who sat on the edge of the bed, while England huddled in its corner staring intently at his hands. "Tae ge North. Seems like ya tha oonly one e'can rely on ane fight." "I don't have anything to _fight _with, or if you prefer, I can snap their necks da?" Scott shrugged in return, it was bad luck if someone got in the way and ended up getting killed. "A'right aen." The man seemed over eager for Scott's liking, the way he hovered behind with his hands twitching in anticipation. It would be times like this where he would lecture and deliver the famous quotes he knew, but seeming as it was neither family or a younger sibling he didn't fel inclined to.

The cold air rolling up from the ocean put a biting feeling to his face, even as he passed through the boathouse the warmth was fleeting. The city watchers had last seen North heading for the down-town bar area, Scott just hoped that he wouldn't be wasted once they go to him.

* * *

It saddened him to think it, but it was inevitable. Hoping that his word would keep the Irishman from losing a grip on conciousness. Days or weeks could have passed since he saved Ireland, feeding on the only things they could scrounge in the dark bare basement. It was only a matter of time before the creatures found out that he was no longer an empire or nation. _Just like one of Germania's many offspring, what was his name again? Holy Roman Empire?_ _Hah! Didn't last long!_

In the time he had been in the stomach of the Monolith, memorised sounds like the many cluttering of legs became imprinted in his mind. At different times there was a number of the things, walking in their broken rhythmic ways. Days might have passed until they did again, but to Gilbert it seemed that no patrol or security was in place. If his chances of survival were to be greater then he wouldn't leave or sacrifice Ireland. It would be cumbersome to drag the armless, half fever dead person along or even help him swim to the surface if they got that far.

Stroking his fingers through Ireland's hair he had to wonder at what it looked like, and his eyes. Mentally laughing, he couldn't wait until he saw the other react to his own appearance. The months down in the dark pit had taken their toll, he felt his ribcage more often and his arms had gotten thinner. The steep ramp lead directly to the Monolith's bottom floor, Gilbert knew that those creatures were up there, he just couldn't see over the lip of ramp. It was just too tall and steep to run up, exactly the reason why he couldn't help Ireland. But... He needed someone to guide him on the surface, it would be to bright to see and it could possibly damage his sight.

_Catch fire and die anew  
Where the red river runs stained  
Come to water  
__Through the blades of bone  
From the light  
Drown from your stupidity and shame-  
_

_Urk! _I broke away from the waning warmth of Ireland to sit and rub at my throbbing head, willing the little verses out of my mind. The chant would try to finish itself if I let it. Ever since the oppression had passed not just the chant had began playing past my eyes and ears, he knew who the Nordics were of course, it just puzzled Gilbert that they would ever trust someone like him. Thinking nothing of it Gilbert went back to petting the other, lightly enough that he wouldn't wake up. It was strange that only he would not forget the past, instead this plagued him. _I have to get out, and soon. Then I can have the life I deserve... With Ireland? I'm sure he won't mind the awesome me crashing at his house._

_Because I promised... I'll do everything in my power to get us out._ "I _promise._"It was not in Gilbert's nature to act so disloyal, it held him tight to do what was good and just. Taking in to consideration his attitude and personality, most people would rather not know him. Unlike Gilbert's brother, who seemed to only put up with him to a certain extent. Before kicking him out to sit in the rain, that was _before_...

* * *

Matthew felt the presence of the first menhir before it flitted across the cathadra, lifting itself over the chair and shambling with its many legs frothing at the joints. It didn't have an over-all shape, just bending its rusted limbs in the direction that its gristle body headed. While its old, metal decayed legs seemed in far better condition than its burnt flaking body. It reminded Matthew of a roasted maggot stuck on the end of a twig, like you would do with marshmallows over a burning fire.

Falling back over the church pews, he ducked in time to miss the shrapnel of splinters sent off as the menhir hacked through the the spot he had been previously sitting in. Giving a startled yelp when it barrelled at him, sheering off the fabric of his favourite coat. Running with a choked breath in his throat, he dashed for the exit. The menhir flicking up the churches pattered floor tiles, scattering up a cloud of dust at it charged at the fleeing blond through the dim cathedral.


	4. Chapter 4

Chapter 4

Remembering it was as clear as the proof of Gilbert's scarred mind. That day when Germany, who seemed so nice... Before I would understand why he would lock the door on me, never caring about the weather or uneaten meals left in the fridge. Christmas was coming up soon, snow heralding its arrival. I always got excited, bringing out the decorations early ready for the tree, or digging out the pair of red sunglasses from the dusty old tinsel boxes. Brother Germany had told us that we were going to borrow a pine tree from France, so wearing my cherished red squared neck scarf and only a thin, black t-shirt with torn jeans. We set off in his sleek auto gear car, gathered snacks for the journey packed into the front. Germany had a cold air about him the whole way, glancing through my eyelashes at him and being sure to snore lightly, I caught him more than once look harshly while turning his head in disgust.

"Here we are." I snort and look through the car window. "I don't think we're in France bruder." The car jolts to a stop as Germany pulls over to the side of the road. Yellowing grass fields dotted with barely growing scrubs, flakes of snow pattering gently on the swiping wipers of the Audi. "Hmm... get the map, it's in the boot." _What? He expects me to go out this weather? I've only got a shirt on. _"Fine, fine I'll get it. Only cos im awsome!" I snap in response, shaking crumpled rolls of food wrappings off my lap. Grabbing the handle I stretch my legs before heaving myself to stand, sulkily plodding to the back end of the car. From the corner of my vision i see Germany reaching over the seat, hearing the open door slam shut.

"Germany?" I cough as the wheels send up a could of dust, screeching as the Audi speeds off down the road. "BRUDER! What are you _doing_?" Visibly shivering Gilbert attempts to run after the car, giving up when it vanishes around a dense wooded area in the distance. "_Verdammt noch mal!_" The former empire cries out, confusion showing in his eyes. The fact that Germany wouldn't be coming back finally settled in. Clenching his fists tightly to his sides, even when his nails began to cut into the pale white palms. It felt like being a puppy shoved into a cardboard box, dumped on the side of a highway when the family couldn't put up with it any more. _It's meant to be Christmas..._

The scene suddenly changed with a flash, past emotions of sadness returning ten-fold. No longer standing in the gloomy road, but a white field.

_Don't fall. _Came the silent plea, choked over the sound of buzzing wails. _Why must you show me this? _Around bodies had already began to pile on top of one-another, spasmodic even past their deaths. _Stop it! _ A spray of blood from a severed jugular vein caught me in the face as a dead figure fell to my feet, strangely familiar eyes blankly staring ahead. _I don't know what this means! _The massacre of people falling to their unknown assailants, unforeseeable blows felling the crowd of unknown.

_-See the Nordics fall first  
Impale their hearts  
__with their trust of you_

True to the verse Gilbert heard the obnoxiously loud screams of several people.

_See your reflection_

Struggling now to bring himself awake Gilbert bit hard on his tongue.

_Time to go under~_

"Hey Gilbert are you alight?" The invisible hand gripping my shoulder shook quickly, shocked when I began the cough violently and pinch my fingers on my tongue to stop the bleeding cut there. "Finh, Jhus sih nec tou me." "O-okay." Ireland lent into his side, almost bringing a tear to Gilbert's eye at the others affection, who appeared not to care about the feeling of rigid bones on Gilbert's weakened state. "Feh, are yoh okay?" Gilbert tried to speak. "Me? Sure, we Irishmen man the gap of danger!" Sean scoffed, lightening the damp mood.

* * *

Turning to face the menhir bug, Matthew reached behind for the ancient hockey stick he had momentarily forgotten about. Strapped to his back it displayed a red maple leaf pattern, criss-crossing the splintering shaft and blade. It glanced off of its mandibles but still sent a satisfying, shuddering ring through its face. Taking the time to flee while it was paralysed, Matthew hurdled over the remaining pews with years of practised agility.

Throwing up his arm to protect his head, he hurtled over what remained of the churches balcony, rotting away from the crumbling ruins. Bruising his fingers as he threw up the Hockey stick through the branches of the thick wisteria growing underneath, catching himself. Observing the granite slopes that served as his fall. Heaving the antique out through the purple flowers he clambered down the thick vines, stubbing his boots into any cracks to help his decline.

I felt a splatter of thick liquid hit my sleeve, and a squeezing feeling constricting my stomach. Looking up the menhir slugged menacingly down the wall, wedges of sharp wood sticking from its abdomen, mangy white blood curdling around the wounds like off-milk, It smelt bad. Distracted by the smell Matthew clumsily lost balance, slipping a few metres away from the creature. A shower of flaking bark catching in his face to temporarily blind him from the form falling from where the branches gave way, Its bulk ripping his grip away from the wisteria. _Oof! _The wind rushed out of Matthew's lungs, scrambling to get a hold on rocks as the menhir expertly stabbed one of its forearms into his leg. "_Arghh!" _Matthew screamed. Yelping at the retreating church as the menhir kept its hold, intent to on cling to him even though the granite slopes tore at both of them.

_Thwack! _The forelimb cleaved into his leg detached itself from the hulking segmented body, bouncing and tumbling towards the edge Matthew desperately tried to snag onto the rocks. _I can't die!_ The smooth surface made it hard to get a hold on something, weather beaten cliffs fragmenting thereafter, sharp shale stone a sure ending to dash Matthew's brains across the place. Loud screeches alerted him that the menhir bug had flown off the edge, along with the scuffing of sneakers dashing nearer.

"Matthew!" _Alfred! _An avid hand grasped at my winter coat, tugging me away. _Thank the heavens! I thought I was a goner. _"A-Alfred... W-what are you doing here?" "Saving you of course!" Alfred retorted, glasses balancing on his forehead, the ear piece tucked behind his ears. Wearing a White shirt with a black and checker underlying jacket, lose denims fraying at the ends as they dragged on the dirty ground. "I would never let my brother die before me. Now lets get a look at your leg, I think there's a little cottage a ways back." Despite the climb Alfred insisted that Matthew piggyback till they reached the cottage. "Alfred I t-think it was a bad idea exploring the church, w-we don't have to g-go back do we?" "Nah, if you don't want to. I'd still be able to protect you from those small-fry though..." Alfred alleged, puffing out his cheeks. Picking his way down the mountain side, stopping to decide which path was safest.

"Ah! Here we are little bro." He exclaimed suddenly. Across the slate-like landscape a dithering shack stood battling agaisnt the elements. "T-thats not a cottage." "Well excuse me! I was being chased by one of those torpedo rats so I didn't know." "I think they're called lizards." _Oh _Alfred mouthed, settling Matthew inside. "Well I reckon it's here somewhere... Ah! got it." Bringing out a stashed away rucksack Alfred fished out gauze along with small fishbone needles, followed by a length of purse string. Peeling away the trouser leg, he wiped away any sand or dirt with an almost dry bacterial wipe that stung slightly. Taking care not to needlessly poke at the inflamed gash, skin yellowing around it as any blood-supply was cut off.

"All done Mattie!" Alfred patted his leg, holding out his hand to help him up. "That menhir must have only been a worker. Here, put this on it will make carrying you easier." Matthew nodded, threading his arms through the rucksack. "If we go further into the church I'm betting we'll be able to find a tunnel entrance, got to be a nest deep down there. I picked up a few plants so their smell will allow us to go undetected." Alfred seemed intent on exploring the church ruins for the menhir burrows, Matthew didn't want to spoil his older brother's chance of a bit of freedom. Sneaking from the orphanage whilst the younger children and caretakers were asleep, stealing supplies from right under the nose of the cook. "Okay." He mumbled in a quiet voice, a numbed itching feeling all that was left on his leg.

Sauntering down the dimming tunnels with only a lantern to lead them, a drop of moisture sizzling on contact with the heated object. Keeping his free arm hooked over Matthew's legs. "If the fungus grown in the menhir larders become a certain chemical odour, tiny crystals appear." Alfred commented. "If we can find even some, then we can support ourselves! We won't need the orphanage any-more." "Y-yeah, with the money we get from selling the crystals." Matthew added noiselessly.

* * *

Trailing behind the red-headed man Russia tensed at the feeling of violence pooling into his muscles, rolling his shoulders to relieve himself he gazed after the bright neon lamps hanging over various night clubs. People dancing in cages, walls made entirely of fish tanks with music booming in the background. Empty glass bottles littered across the streets, drunken people shambled about aimlessly. " I want tha reid eejit back b'fore e gets hurt." Russia just agreed, not knowing what an earth Scott was talking about.

_I hope we get a fight, been a long time since those brats stoned me back home. _Trying to stay invisible to the bubbling drunks lifting their heads to regard the Russian, slurring rude comments about the strange company the infamous Scottish man had. "Do all of your siblings have green eyes?" _Put them all in a jar and admire them if I could.. I'll spare little England though. _Russia thought to himself. "Ya, whit aboot you? Don'ya hav any sisters or brothers?" "Da, two sisters." Scott couldn't be asked to delve into asking more, instead lengthening his strides to carry him away from the threatening man.

"If I knew any better, you're scared of me. Kolkolkol, I could snap you in half before you could blink." Russia laughed darkly, Scott's stance bordering on aggressive as he set his shoulders back and whipped around with a determined grace. "Ay be tha _best_ ye hae ivver seen, an ay ken ye'll be the warst if it comes to that. Shoot ya right between the eyes laddy befor'ya even so much as think aboot it." Even if Scotland was a hairs breath shorter, so much crimson rage radiating from him made him seem more lofty, wisps outlining his figure it was hard not to say at least a bit of magic ran through them all.

"Da, lets just get this over with?" Scott spat on the ground disdainfully. "Aye, but if ya dare lay a finger on any of my bràthairs, i'll ground ya body so far into the dirt thal'never kno where ye've gone!" If it had not been for the sudden clatter of bins Russia would have gladly wrapped his fingers around the aggravating brat in front of him. Pushing past to Inspect the alley-way, Russia instantly saw a shadowed pair of alley-rats in rags giggling to themselves. _How disgusting. _The two seemed swath in disease, flies circling lazily were free to bit and crawl, clustered around their rabid eyes. "Stae bac." Scott warned, keeping a fair distance himself. The alley-rats spoke unintelligibly to each other, their spit flecked across the ground through awkward brown pointing teeth, snapping at the little bugs buzzing at them.

"Boo!" Russia tried, startling the rats into scampering wildly away, knocking over piles of thrown away bags Russia would rather not know was full of. "Yae eejit! Y'n woudant hav survived tae diseases from toose rats iv thay bit ya." Russia smiled over his shoulder at Scott. "Da, but you had your revolver ready to shoot." He replied mockingly as Scott peered curiously into the dark tunnel-like street. "Seems lik'tha aint coming bac..." "Hmm, looks like they were fussing over something. Do you see it?" Scott cocked his head to the side, obviously interested in something slumped across a crumpled stack of wet boxes. Bringing up his revolver to train on it, he steeped warily into the hallow street. "Holy shite!" Scotland swore, recognition crossing his features. Co-" Scotland was interrupted by a blaring horn, a rattling bellowing rushing throughout the residential areas of Murmansk. "What was that?" Another blare. "Gie ye ass back tae tha ship!" Scott shouted, hefting North's bedraggled body. Russia winced at another blare, hearing the frightened screams echo from further up the houses. "What is it for!" "Jus do whit ay say!" Scott struggled in the general direction of the docks, spitting out the cigarette he had in his mouth. Street lights flickering then exploding, scattering glass into the Victorian style buildings.

Running down the paved main streets they ran into crowds of people, all just woken up and still in their bed clothes, blabbering in different exotic languages to each other. Exchanging glances Russia understood Scott's notion of the situation. "I'll clear a way through da?" _Then we can ask questions. _Making sure his white scarf was still snug against his neck, Russia shoved at the people in his way. Knocking over numerous men, woman and children like he didn't know his own strength. _Where now? _He mouthed at his red-headed companion, who started forward just as a Toyota small car tooted for them to move. Without thinking, Russia watched Scott threaten the driver with the revolver. Smiling Russia gently clicked open the passenger door, grabbing a fistful of the womans hair and yanking as hard as he could. She screamed, tumbling out as Russia stood happily with a wad of long bloody hair. Sliding comfortably into the seat as Scotland did the same, dumping North across the Russian to get at the gear stick and worn steering wheel. "You never told told me what that signals for." Russia pointed out as it resounded, jolting as the car jerked into gear. Fist beating on the horn Scott sped off to the airship dock. "Ay cae't tell ya, piss yerselv." Scott chuckled. "Tsunami." Russia's eyes widened, he had heard of stories about giant waves gobbling an entire region, drowning _everything _in it's wake. "Tae be honest, times stacked against us. But it's worth a'shot right?" Scott winked. Russia relaxed slightly, knowing that the mad-man would succeed, perhaps.


	5. Chapter 5

Chapter 5

"Te quiero Lovi~" "S-shut up bastard!" _I swear I'll make him eat those words! _"Lovi~ You know I do. So don't put any more scars on that pretty face of yours." Antonio whined, emerald eyes searching the other's face. Landing on a particularly large scrape across Lovino's nose he reached down to trace it with his thumb, "Here." Antonio picked out a red tomato from the woven basket nestled into the crook of his other arm, checking for blemishes before handing it over. "Hpmf, I don't need your pity." Lovino scowled, snatching the offered fruit. "No te vayas, Lovi." The Spanish man whispered, genuine loneliness showing in his eyes. _Don't you dare give me those puppy-dog eyes. _"Damn fool, go back to picking your tomatoes bastard. I'll be back before you know it." Sighing he did just that, sending a glance down the narrow walkway captured by the spindling plants either side. "Would you mind waiting for a while?" _Look at me when your're speaking, don't turn your back to me Toni..._"Why?" "I want to come with you." Antonio turned smiling. "I can put up my own, so you won't have to worry about me, I'm sure my battle-axe is somewhere." _That fool smiles like it's the easiest thing in the world, damn centaur. _"Fine, but don't expect me to pay extra on transport for four-legged animals." "Lovi!~ I'm not an animal." Antonio gasped, making Lovino jump when he made a show of stamping his hoof. "Careful ass-wipe! You make me look pathetic." "Gracias poca Lovi. I'll put these inside." He gestured towards the basket, clomping down the walkway that strangely mirrored a bamboo thatched floor, the soft sound of trickling water running underneath it.

Coming to the end of one of the many stretches of red fruit growing up the lattice of wood, they reached a grassy incline. On top of the hill sat Antonio's low lying nuance home, shrubs sprouting small vines surrounding it. Luckily for both of them, it was built on one of the few remaining patches of land undisturbed by industrial means. The plains spread far into the horizon, as did the Spanish's farm. _The bastard sure put a lot of effort into this. _"I'll just let granny know we're going out~" Antonio said casually, setting the basket atop a beach panelled counter at the side of the wide open door they had just entered. Everything was fuzzy and calm, minus the job he had to do. The interior of the house glowed a rosy pink hue, that made Lovi feel safe. Allowing himself a small smile to lift his lips, which drooped and was quickly replaced with his usual frown. Goblins, a small irritation to the small village east of here, had requested him to dispose of them. Rolling up the sleeves to his dark forest colour shirt, he checked the hunting knives strapped closely to the slimmed down version of the ballistic vest he wore. Smoke bombs were organised to fit into the thick pockets of his army cargo pants, the belt slung loosely around his hips.

_For once I'm glad Toni has that red and yellow striped shawl over the horse side of his back..._ Lovino scolded himself as a blush formed across his cheeks, instead telling himself that it just suited his loose red button up shirt. The way his longish, somewhat curly brown hair fell into a messy perfected way. He had to Physically slap himself on the arm to stop the thoughts from messing with his brain. "Hurry up!" He shouted. "I'm coming poca Lovi~ One moment." Came the sing-song reply, coupled with clomp of hoofed feet. "Ouch!" _Smack!_ "What is it?" I smirk playfully as the Spanish centaur wanders round the pale lit corner. "Gray-fly." Antonio sobs. "Kiss it better?" "Hell no!" I hiss loudly, shaking my head. "Lovi you're so mean~." He laughs, turning his attention to the open-ended oxhide spathe at his waist. A finely honed bone axe blade, mostly a grey and ivory shade, but with sharp veins of white etched onto it. The girth of the weapon head stopping it from slipping from it's leather hold, the shaft being a detailed amber design from top to bottom. "You like? It's quite old, so i got to be extra careful." "Yeah yeah, I know. We have to get to the bus stop before six, so lets go already." The Italian huffs loudly, sharply marching away. "Hoof it bastardo!" "Okay~"

To get to the stop the pair had to walk down a fairly worn path, leaving the farm into the distance. Usually for trucks to pick up the crates of grown food weekly, barely any tire tracks scarred it, till they got to a post. Settled into the grass that advanced up it. "Looks like we got here early eh Lovi?"Antonio smiled, bending his forelegs to settle peacefully on the grass, taking interest in the small yellow and white flowers around him. Suddenly getting an idea. The only moment when the Italian was of equal height was when they both sat down, even then he was still taller. "Close your eyes." Sitting cross-legged in front of Toni, Lovino frowned but complied, feeling the light fleeting touch of fingers. "There, just like I used to when you were little."_ When you didn't have those horrific scars on you, Lovi... It doesn't matter, because you're you and I'll always take care of that._ "_Chigi!_" Lovino warned, realising the chain of daises dangling from his hair. "You're getting my hair dirty, you jerk!" Lovi complained, swiping the feeble things out, just as a dusty rusting bus trundled into view.

When it pulled to the side coughing up black smoke, he helped the centaur into the narrow vehicle by guiding him as to where to place his legs. It sank and creaked slightly at the additional weight, but amazingly despite it's size had enough room for Antonio. Throwing the driver in the cubicle the change from his pocket, hoping it was enough. Like a normal human bus, but a row along the inside had been removed. Only a few native people dressed in blue or gold silks sat in the row of scratchy cotton seats, of course, the Italian taking the front ones complained the whole way. "Lovi do you know where we're going?" "Just a small village, we have to catch tram-line to get there because it's quite remote. _Argh_, why did you have to follow me you jerk. Should have stayed home, unless you wanna walk there?" "I'm fine poca Lovi~ Are you concerned for me? How sweet of you~" Snorting, he watched the endless grassy terrain fly past the clogged windows. It was easy to see Antonio trying to balance along with the bumps in the road, so it was no surprise that he refused to go on any such things. That is, except with the temperamental Lovino.

_"I wonder where all the eggs have gone?" Antonio mumbled to himself. It was a hot spring day, and Easter celebration tomorrow. After going through the trouble of making the round, plastic chocolate holders and hiding a good three hundred around the tomato groves for the next day. "More importantly, where's my little Lovi?" He panicked, knowing full well that it wouldn't be the first time that the kid had gotten lost. "Lovi!" The centaur called, weaving this way and that through the large growing farm. Wandering for a while longer, he was soon able to make out the distinctive outline of a small figure, through a thick growth of tomato vines, back turned to him. "Lovi! I found you." "CHIGI!" Lovino screamed, surprised at the appearance of his carer. "Aha! So that's where they went. ¡Dios mío Lovi you found them all?" Indeed, around the child and in his lap were the plastic holders Antonio had made. Scoffing them down Lovi had gotten the chocolate all over his face, clothes and hands. Having melted under the hot glaring of the sun, from the looks of it the Italian had not cared about being tidy about it. "Yeah, so what?" he asked pointedly, pleased with himself. "You. Bath." Antonio crossed his arms. "I'm sure those rubber ducks will be happy to see you." Much to the protesting of the other._

When the finally bus stopped after a few uncomfortable hours, Lovi's slumped dozing body hit the glass with a thump, causing him to swear to no one in particular. Missing the pair of olive green eyes tracing his face, he grumpily made his way into the robust town they had halted at. Rich with thieves, Lovino had gotten most of his scars from passing through this place. Attackers would wait for the full pouch of money they knew he would have when he came back from his little trips. Unlike the monsters he dealt with, and knew about. Thieves would ambush from the shadows, often too many to deal with all at once. One time they had even taken to cutting off his curl, that stuck stubbornly from his auburn ash hair. The Spanish centaur would have this grin on his face, cheeks red from the days work, asking if he touch it. Earning in a slap, or a very flushed Lovino refusing for him to get any closer. It would be one thing if Toni knew about the façade covering the real story on how he got his scars, another if he found out the dark secret of the child he had raised since he was just a little kid. "Mierda." _Shit! Antonio's here with me!_ "Is something wrong my poca Lovi~?" "Stop calling me that bastardo! Its not cool, besides there's nothing wrong." He bit on his knuckle to keep from speaking more, steering away from the open casements of sweltering bars. _What am I going to do?_ "You know you can tell me anything you wan't Lovi... I'm here for you."_ Damn it, its like he knows already._ "Weep for yourself Toni." He sneered, more harsher than intended by the shocked reaction on the other. Furrowing his fine brows he blubbered back, hurt showing through his voice. "Lovi I hate this! Everytime you come back b-bloodied and hurt, you put more distance between us! I-It's not good to have to share your problems on your-." "It's my own burden idiot! Leave me be." Tearing away from that hurt face he shrugged it off, at the end of the day Toni would always forgive him. _He's just, overprotective, that's all. _

* * *

"Great! Fan-Fucking-tastic Wales! Just how will this day get any worse?" Arthur shouted over the blaring siren, twined with the begging voices pleading that overweighted ship crafts to take them away, offering the money or even the clothes off their back. "God damn it Arthur use your powers or something! Scott, North and that Russian guy are still out there!" "His name _is_ Russia." Arthur countered, warily eyeing the crowds of citizens crowding the port decks. _There's to many of them, they're going to collapse the deck. _Arthur thought with a sinking feeling, they still had _their _guys out there.

Breathing in and out, Arthur focused his mind. He really hated to do it, seemingly as it was _very _embarrassing. Onlookers would stare and gasp, mostly saying angel, or calling him a winged freak to better get out of their children's sight. Two dull brown wings scratched their way into existence, darker, underbelly primary remiges, giltedged and finely preened. Along with the fluffy beige covert feathers Arthur used to snuggle into on cold nights. Familiar to that of a robin, whilst they were small they fitted rather nicely with Arthur's own anatomy. Having read that the robin was the national bird of the old, forgotten, soggy wasteland of England. It pleased him to no end that he was _gifted, _as Scott claimed. To tell the truth, it ran through all of them. Arthur had seen neither Scott or Guernsey over-use their powers, if anything they had forgot they had it. It felt like butterflies had appeared from within the depths of Arthur's stomach, fluttering in their dark confines. Scooping down off of the boat then furiously beating hard to gain altitude, wings like these were for flitting, not gliding. As his strength was slowly sapped away, the little Britishman twisted and barrelled desperately through the currents that threatened to throw him off course. Having displaced his coat, the thin shirt that clung pathetically to him was the only thing battling to keep warm. Navigating the crawling streets below like a practised hawk training its eyes, people streamed like ants down its thin lanes. His choppy blond tresses stuck against his forehead from the dews of water hanging in the air, spitting into his face.

Spotting Scott's reckless driving was as easy to see as you had just gotten stung in the ass by a wasp, it was an eyesore to say the least. Flickering into a fell swoop Arthur succeeded in catching Russia's attention, exclaiming to Scotland to steer away in time to miss a collision, with a group of shambling beggars pattering down the road. One hand thrown carelessly on the steering wheel, the red-headed man leaned from the window to grasp at what his little brother was trying to say. "Follow me!" Arthur cried over the horrendous squealing of the tires. Swerving around corners Arthur tried to stay ahead to guide them, turning away from blocks in the way of their determined route. "Almost there." Arthur encouraged. Flitting above the street roofs with a few quick snaps of his wings, there, in the distance was the first of the waves. Still a thin line on the horizon but approaching never the less, and very quickly. When they were forced to make a quick escape from the car to head down to the crowded docks, Arthur lost sight of them all of a sudden, then whooped with joy. Slug over the shoulder of his eldest brother, Conner, looking bedraggled and sick with Russia following close behind.

Rocketing winds from the raging sea made it impossible for old-fashioned boats to make headway, schooners easily diving under the perilous blue surface. Pushing past Scott headed to the un-manned craft of his sail-ship, bellowing over the heads of people to Russia. "Ay'll take this one! Tae Connor ane ge'im to Wales!" Burdened with the weight of the Irishman Russia could only stare after as Scott darted through the frantic bustling, running to take charge of the wooden wheel. Bravely managing to pull away his craft enough from the deck, the thin ropes holding it in place stretching, fraying and snapping. Accented yells from the home-boat pulled him to his senses, wildly ducking through to get to them. Jumping over to the closely held boat Russia dumped Connor on the floor, peering out to spot England. He was his only lease to his past, it would be a shame to lose him after the time Russia had spent with Arthur's family, and _intended_ time. Noticing Scott's pained cries for Arthur to get away, who seemed intent on cutting through a braided rope still yanking back the sail-ship. Slicing the thick strands away the pressure behind the tugging ship caused it to whip forward, striking the blonde's ulna bone in his thrashing brown wings. Drawing blood with a thick snap. "Bràthair!" _Fwoosh! _The brushing impact of wind staggered Russia, created by two almost black and white checked wings, spreading out from nowhere.

* * *

**Stonechat- Jersey  
Kite- Wales  
Marsh harrier- Guernsey  
Chaffinch- Scotland  
Robin- England  
Red Grouse -Republic of Ireland  
Goldfinch -Northern Ireland  
Hen harrier - Isle of Man**


	6. Chapter 6

Chapter 6

His heart flew to his mouth when the youngest of Arthur's brothers did just that to rescue the downed England, struggling to keep his head above water while the soggy mass of feathers weighted him down. Seawater filling his lungs as Arthur took desperate breaths not to drown and sink under, failing in doing so as the roiling waves pushed him further down. "No!" Iom shouted. Russia had to duck close to the rails to avoid the same fate, as a large trauler knocked into the home boat's sodden flank, sending off sparks as metal scraped across metal. It's misshapen tail-end clogged with fishing nets and barnacles, so much machinery it hurt his eyes to look at it.

Iom was still lingering over where Arthur had been, distressed and shouting encouragement for his brother just to surface. Scotland had managed to tug his sail-ship away to swerve above the clouds away from the docks, looking more like someone had just kicked a wasps nest to crumbs. Guernsey reluctantly pulled away to follow, turning disbelieving looks to Jersey who had hooked his arms under North protectively to hold him close. Engines rumbled to life, propellers whining in response to creak loudly at Guernsey's rushed movements over the controls. Rain pattered relentlessly upon all beating flesh, slogging down their more frantic, and dare he say, pathetic attempts. An evil smile lurked across Russia's face, heart beating in excitement with every flash of fear on those pitiful faces. "Get inside! C'mon!" Someone cried out to him, two blurry figures waving insistently for him to take cover.

As if in cue, an unearthly wave lurched from the depths, swallowing the lower town to advance up the districts, sounding deafening as it unhitched and rolled everything in it's wake. Shaking the docks into crumbling away from the cliff face, taking with it the ships still tethered. Screams were as many as the drops falling from the sky, not heard, but Russia knew there would be so many. Turning away reluctantly he stumbled to the blurry figures of Jersey and Guernsey through the rain, shouldering them aside, obviously not on purpose but to get inside the dark littered space for cover.

It had been a few hours since the Tsunami had hit, still the stubborn black clouds above bubbled with rain and lightning. Wales drifted mindlessly from a vacant stare, to a mindless sobbing man. Not only had England gone, but little Iom to had succumbed to the massive swells of the raging sea. The weight of the water had gone straight through their sodden feathers. No one had gotten an ounce of sleep, North had only tossed back and forth through conscious, kept cool through his sleep by Jersey pressing a cool flannel across his forehead. Scott had draped himself across the wheel, a depressed air around him.

"Ah'm nae fecking good. Ah said ay'd look after im, fer ma." "Scott you're not helping."Wales snapped, knocking his fist on the balcony with a _thwack! _"So shut our yap before you make everything worse, and don't go mentioning ma either!" "Doon't threaten me!" Scott cried, coughing into his hands at his outburst. "They're at it again." Jersey muttered tiredly, grey bags under his eyes. Even from where they were together, the voiceless actions of Wales and Scott expressing themselves were as clear as day. "Acting like children." He spat. "Hmmmm..." Guernsey hummed in response, either way, not really caring. Dipping the chopsticks in his pot and lifting the noodles merrily to his mouth. "Where to now? We've got nowhere else to go to, not now..." Jersey sighed, running his hands through his hair. "We'll just have to find another place." Guernsey shrugged, boredly chomping away. "I suppose, but where?" "How should I know? I mean, its not like they'll accept raiders in every single port. The only city I can think of is back in Britain, and that's like a bog pit! We're more likely of drowning there than anywhere else!" He huffed loudly, getting up and heading downstairs to take a shower.

"I give up." Jersey sighed. "How so?" Russia pried, menacing under the warm shadows. "Everything's just getting so difficult! My brothers are just disappearing... And look at what it's doing to all of us!" He gestured around him. "I left my sisters... Now I don't even know if they care if I've gone, maybe." Russia commented, resting his head back on the paneled wall, a sudden weightless encasing his stomach that made him realise the last time he had eaten. "So are we heading to this... Britain?" "Well now, it looks like we have no other choice."

* * *

Gilbert could tell by the sudden smell of rotting fish they were near a port of some sort, maybe just underneath it. "...Hey! Get up, we're getting out." He shook the other, who grumbled his way back into conscious, coughing weakly before bleakly listening. "Getting out?" "Ja, now get up! Get up!" Gilbert shoved the other into standing with what little strength he had left, fussing through the dark where the ramp was, tugging the Irishman along with him. The lumpy remains of the monoliths victims had grown to a large enough number, It seemed more like a meat store for the monsters, piling high it gave the pair unstable, dare say sticky, leverage. Hearts dropped to the bottoms of their stomachs, fearful of what would be around the dark shadowed corners.

Tightly gripping the others hand Gilbert lead Seamus through the very same tunnels their once frozen bodies had been wheeled down. "Ah-! Listen you can hear the sea gulls." He chirruped, though the poor lad following him was guessing it was rather the 'gulls' in Gilbert's stomach. "W-where to now? Do you have any idea where we're gooing at all? Out of here I hope, unless you're one of those no good, double crossers. Working for those... _Things_." The whining voice added something along the lines of wanting a bath, soup or some edible thing like it too.

"Hush. See the light up there?" Now, a more visible, bone white hand pointed up towards a falling stream of light, cast by a semi-circler shaft, opening high up on the ceiling. "I'm guessing these creatures need air like us too, probably millions of these ventilation shafts sucking in what air they can before its time to get moving again." "Mmmhmm, yeah, so how're going to get up-?" "... I'm thinking on it..." "What-?! You... tch-!" He sulked. "Hold my hand, and don't let go. I'd prefer not to have a man with a broken spine _and no arm _dragging behind me if I _drop_ you."

* * *

"A-Alfred-?" Nothing, just the warmth of his brothers back. "A-are you okay-?" "Oh-! Matthew-! I didn't see you there, jeez don't scare me like that-! What would I have done if you were someone else-? What are you doing here-?" "You asked m-me to come with you..." "Oh-!" The blonde mouthed, buffeting the other with a mouthful of hair as he stopped momentarily, thought for a moment then apparently deciding on which way to go next plodded on. The lantern still lit up the path ahead but already the oil was thinning, and neither carried an extra box, too quick in their escapades to pick anything up back at the orphanage. "Look, Matthew I found some." "Already-?" "Hah-Yeah of course-!"

* * *

Tino brought his clenched fist to muffle the sudden cough that escaped his throat, all around mist, like the whole ghostly entity of breathing. Sniffling a few times and rubbing a pair of freezing cold hands together, warming them to the point that he gently pinched a bleeding red coloured nose to warm it up, just a little. "Friggen nora its so cold. Jeez, its meant to be summer!" He cried out to no one in particular, though a few passer-bys exchanged worried glances, ducked their heads and carried on like nothing had happened, yet the prospect of having a single day of sunshine remained on all of their minds.

"Ahhh... I'd best be heading back." Tino snapped his fingers forwards to catch the drawing pad innocently placed either side of him before it ran off at the sudden billow of wind, pencil light etchings of a collapsed clock tower, rundown carousel and . It made the light, dusky blonde haired boy giggle at the thought of a pack of children rushing to sit where he had previously been on one of the few memorial benches dotted around in the more sparse, and frankly more beautiful, parts of the crawling city, under capture of winters cowering wrath. Stuffing blunt pencils, rubbers, a metal oxford sharpening tin into what pockets endeavoured the thick, white-y beige snow coat he wore over himself, its needless amounts of dark goofy fur smelling just fresh 'out of the bag' lining the hood, tickling his face constantly.

Passing over the frost ridden paths was danger in itself, even the few out-dated shop pains were cracking at hair breadths. Especially the good ol' sweet shops, stacked high with jars and their dithering paper labels. Stopping, then apparently making his mind up Tino took to exploring a sickly orange striped 'shack', splattered with stark bird poop while thick needle like spikes covered the ledges, like almost all the other menacing buildings in the area. An old-looking woman perched over the shelves as if possessed on counting every fibre of candy fibre settled in those jars, but when he looked closer, she was sorting them out. Oddly enough, the interior smelt like... blood? Nah, sweltered green giant sweet corn, sure! Tino always remembered that smell, it was what he always found in them stuffed salad tables at pizza hut. "Ummm... Excuse me-?" Tentatively reaching a finger up, come on! he had to be cautious. This little old lady could have been one of those ruler wrist beating teachers back from the 1000's. _Now, that was a long time ago._

Digging around in his pockets Tino fished out what silvers he had left, pushing them to the middle of the counter, within better reach of the granny. "Ummm... The green ballsies? Look like they've been covered in flour." He added as an afterthought, stroking an invisible beard when she looked at him in a confused, grumpy manner. After what seemed for ages the sweets were weighed in their little paper bags on a set of old brass scales, handing them over, Tino tilted his head in a 'thanks', returning the change to the back of his zip stash, where men often liked to keep their wallets hidden away. Stepping back outside into the blistering cold there was a strange sense of warmth, not from the sour tingle of the bonbons as he munched his way through them. "Strange." Tino uttered, fingering out the coin immersing that same warmth. It didn't look like the normal pound, he flipped it over, nope it really refused to be. There were strange markings, or a different language even. A profile of a man stamped into its surface with a spirally beard, shaped like an octagon yet a strange teal hue. Like the ocean blue. "I'll keep you, if I feel the urge to draw." He smiled, instead putting it into the breast pocket of his wintery jacket, over his heart.

_Thump- thump- ...thu-mp._

The sound of lapping waves were ever louder now to Tino ears, which was strange, the dank pond across the yard of sicky grass wasn't filled with paddling ducks no more.


End file.
